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“She’s probably asleep.” I’m buzzed from an evening of alcohol. Bad decisions are likely, so I’m not going anywhere near Jessie tonight.
“Wake her up,” he says. “Get on your knees.”
Bad choice of words. Now I’m thinking about dropping to my knees and lifting her leg over my shoulder. Getting another taste of her. “No way. She’ll murder me.”
Seems she’s going to be my cause of death no matter what.
Chapter eight
Nic
December Twenty-first
Timothydragsmeoutsideat the ass crack of dawn to shovel the two inches of snow that fell overnight. I’m clearly here as his audience, as he leans against his shovel, going on and on about Mina and getting married while I do all the work. His excitement is palpable, but I can’t relate. I didn’t feel this way before my wedding. All I felt was a vague unease and a desire to get it over with. Another sign it was a mistake.
“Remind me to pick up some road salt,” Timothy says after I slip on the damn ice again. He marks the spot with a small reindeer he ‘borrows’ from the neighbor’s lawn. It’s his only contribution, yet he still claps me on the shoulder after we put the shovels away, thanking me for the help.
I bite back a retort about doing all the work myself because the exercise has me feeling better.
We stomp the snow off our boots and head inside, shedding jackets and hats and gloves, giving each other shit like always.
“I’m going to go warm up the best way,” Timothy says with a wink, heading to the door of the guest bedroom. “Be ready to go by nine.” He opens the door and pauses. “Nine thirty.”
I don’t point out Mina won’t be happy when his cold hands wake her up—Timothy thrives off the thrill.
Maybe I don’t have someone to warm my body, but at least a cup of coffee is uncomplicated.
Celia intercepts me on my way to the coffeepot, phone pressed to her ear as she grabs my fingers. “Cold. Perfect.” She shoves a bowl into my hands and pushes me toward the island. “Rub that in for me, will you, honey?”
Amanda glances up from her book with a smirk. All the Foley kids can cook—every one of them learned from the best—but Celia working in her kitchen with any or all of her kids is like oil and water. Timothy’s a distracted mess, too busy talking. Amanda vies for control, insisting on exact measurements and getting frustrated with her mother’s intuitive style. Jessie spends more time sampling the food or looking at her phone than actually helping.
I set the bowl of flour and shredded frozen butter on the island and head to the sink to wash my hands—with cold water.
“I get it, really I do.” Celia rolls her eyes at the phone as we pass each other on my way back to the counter. “No, the concept is more about simple recipes, twists on old traditions, not about fancy—” Celia disappears into the butler’s pantry, her voice growing muffled.
“Rough puff for some appetizer.” Amanda answers, though I hadn’t asked. After a moment, she sets her mug down. “What was up with you and Jessie yesterday?”
“Same bullshit, different day.” With some luck, Amanda will drop it before thoughts of Jessie warm up my body and melt the butter.
She snickers and goes back to her book. I get to work, quickly rubbing the butter into the flour with my fingertips. Celia comes back into the room, still talking on the phone, and eventually sets a measuring cup of water and vinegar next to me.
“Yes, Jessie’s in town for the holiday,” she says into her phone. “Oh? You catered a function for her boss…Oh, well…her brother’s wedding is in a couple of days, why don’t you come as her date?”
Her conversation has my full attention now. I add the water and lightly mix the dough until it comes together, ears perked. It won’t be the first time Celia has set Jessie up, usually without warning.
Most times, the guy doesn’t stand a chance. One look, one half a conversation, and Jessie taps out. Sometimes…well, sometimes she hits it off with the guy. It never lasts. Camden was the only one who stuck. Jessie’s always been a casual dater, moving on quickly. I wonder what it was about him that made her stick around.
Knowing Jessie, she’d say it was his dick.
But do I really know her anymore?
It’s been five years since we’ve been under the same roof. She could’ve dated someone for four of those years and I would never have known. She might be looking for something serious.
It’s weird no one in her family ever offers me any insight into her personal life. Then again, maybe it’s strange I never ask.
Wrapping the dough tightly in cling wrap, I stick it in the fridge, behind another batch of dough. Going down on her once doesn’t give me any claim on her attention or company, but…I don’t like Jessie getting set up.
At long last, I fill my mug with coffee, returning to lean against the island, concentrating on the warmth spreading through my fingers and the effort to keep my face neutral.
